


A Hard Truth

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt No Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:48:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26382139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: by Orondo BrandybackGollum describes how he came to possess the Ring.
Kudos: 2
Collections: Least Expected





	A Hard Truth

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Author's Website:  
> Category: Angst  
> Pairing:  
> Warnings: Hurt/No Comfort  
> Rating: R  
> Summary: Gollum describes how he came to possess the Ring.  
> Disclaimer: The characters and the land they inhabit belong to the Professor, whose masterly prose has sparked my love of literature.  
> Feedback: !!Feedback!!  
> Story Notes: Please comment!

"I endured him as long as I could, but the truth was desperately important, and in the end I had to be harsh. I put the fear of fire on him, and wrung the true story out of him, bit by bit, together with much snivelling and snarling."

\- Gandalf, _The Fellowship of the Ring_

He was so light, so fair and lissome in my arms, his face glowing in the afternoon sun, his hair, a bloom of chestnut curls, cascading down his back, tumbling and bouncing between his shoulder-blades, so slender and sweet. Oh, how I want to hold him, my love! How I want to shake off what I am, what I did, and feel him once more, close and warm.

No, no! Don't hurt me! Don't take it away, no! Let me remember, my precious, just a little longer, just a little more, yesss.

It was early summer, and we were playing: boating and fishing and nosing about far down the River, in the big reed fields. Oh! How they rustled in the breeze, the nice cool breeze, and how their shadows danced upon the River, and wavered across my love's face and...in his eyes, so clear. So clear.

I can't, we can't say any more. It's too hard. You all hurt me, everyone hurts me. Leave me alone! I'm nothing! Nothing! No Precious, no Smeagol, nothing! I'm, we're, I'm all empty, all burned away, all eaten. The Precious took us all away....

My love, my Deagol, he sat in our little boat, in the shallows, and he fished. Nice fishes! Make eyes bright, handses tight! But I, we hurt him with those handses, yes we did. And we didn't want to; we never wanted to hurt anyone, Precious. But You made us.

Deagol fished, and I nosed about the banks, and swam under the reeds and the lilies, nice floating lilies. And I surfaced, and went out and lay on the bank and let the sun and the gentle wind dry me. Then I heard a splash! and Deagol was in the water, and under the water. But then he was up, and he swam to the bank, to me, like a fish: sleek and smooth and graceful, making hardly a ripple. He had, he had, there was something in his handses.

"Smeagol, Smeagol, look!" he said, washing the mud away. And there it was, a golden ring, fine and pure and perfectly round. And Deagol, my love, he put it to his eye, and looked through, and smiled. And I smiled too, and stroked his cheek, and whispered, "It's beautiful, my love." And Deagol took it, and ran his finger round its edge, as if he would put it on. And then something happened.

Oh, please, please! We begs, don't make us tell! We didn't want to do it; we loved Deagol, yes we did. We loved his smile, and the nice things he said, and the gifts he brought, and all the adventures we had together. And we loved his soft, strong handses on us, on me, running up my sides, over my chest, teasing and caressing, exploring and soothing. Yes, yesss, I remember! His smooth slim toughness, his dreamy eyes and tender lips, my hands upon him, feeling those hard, strong shoulders, feeling the graceful curve of his back, and his warmth against me....

But something took me, and talked through me, and I couldn't, we couldn't stop it. "Give us that, Deagol, my love," It said, "it's my birthday, my love, and I wants it." But Deagol, he wouldn't give it to us, the thief, the cheater, yesss!

No, no, not a thief. He found it, it was his, but he was rude, not like the gentle Deagol I knew. "No! I've given you a present already, more than I could afford. I found this, and I'm going to keep it," he said, and his eyes were cold and hard, and his hand held the ring so that his knuckles blanched.

Then It took our handses, gripped them hard, and pushed them up and forward and around, and we, I shouted no!, and struggled, but there was no sound, and our struggles were useless, yes quite. It was strong, stronger than anything we ever had imagined. And It squeezed our handses like the Orcses, like the big evil Orcses, like a troll, and through our mouth It said, "Oh, are you indeed, my love."

And It squeezed harder, and we felt our bones bend and our joints crack, and my love, my Deagol, squirmed and thrashed like a landed fish, blood oozing from his mouth, his eyes wide in terror. And I squirmed with him, but It burned me, and fire filled all my sight, and a great rushing filled my ears.

After a long time -- many minutes it seemed -- Deagol went limp and the ring fell from his hand, hitting the ground with a deep thump, like a heavy door closing. Then It released us, and all was silent: not even the wind's whisper could I hear. And I, we, I saw Deagol there, his eyes open and staring, his neck impossibly twisted, his mouth frozen, his beautiful handses spread wide, all cold, all dead. I, we, I don't know how long I stood there, looking at my Deagol, tears streaming down my face, down my neck, down, down, down into the thankless earth.

But then It spoke again, saying, "Come, Smeagol: the thief is dead. Now take Us, your birthday present." And I picked It up, my beautiful Ring, my love, my Precious, and put It on my finger.


End file.
